Harry Potter and the Most Electrifying Man
by SSVD
Summary: Dumbledore found another living relative for Harry to live with. One who is the most electrifying man in all of entertainment.
1. The Most Electrifying Boy Who Lived

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I own any sort of illegal drugs though I understand why you would be suspicious. Before we go on, I would just like to say two things. One, I am writing this because a good friend of mine is writing a Harry Potter story as well and I thought it would be fun to try it as well. Two, I am so, so sorry. _**

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><p>There was no denying that Professor McGonagall had her doubts about this. Dumbledore was a wise man, but sometimes his ideas seemed a bit too eccentric even for him. Truthfully, it was only due to him pushing the boundaries of logic that they had managed to survive the reign of You-Know-Who. But now that he was gone, was it truly a good idea to keep taking such risks? Especially in this case, where the one who would take the risk was the child that had gotten them rid of the era of darkness.<p>

Her uncertainty must have showed in her face, because Dumbledore winked at her.

"Do you think I'm making a mistake, Professor McGonagall?" he asked, staring off into the distance.

"No—well, yes," she admitted, rather uncomfortably. "But I have, I'm ashamed to admit, thought as much many times before. Every one of those times, you proved me wrong, Albus. I'm sure the same will happen here. But it all seems so _ridiculous _to me. I just can't help but be worried for poor Harry. Will he really be fine with such an unorthodox parenting figure?"

"It is one of my brighter ideas, and if I do say so myself, that counts for quite a bit," answered Dumbledore quizzically. Upon seeing McGonagall was still concerned, he went on. "This man is a blood relative of Lily Potter. Harry will receive the same magical protection as he would if he were to live with his other relatives. The only difference is that he will be better treated. In fact, I would add that Harry will be much more safe with him than if he were guarded by dragons day and night!"

"Will he, Albus?" McGonagall asked. "I've observed this Muggle for a while now, and though he isn't as bad as Harry's other relatives, I think that—"

"My dear Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore affectionally. "With all due respect, _it doesn't matter what you think. _There is only one man who can raise the wizard who saved our world from such a terrifying dark lord. There is only one man who can make even the toughest of the death eaters never even attempt to harm this young boy. There is only one man who can be Harry Potter's foster parent. This man—"

At that moment, the door swung open and this man stood before the two. He looked at Profsesor McGonagall. Then he looked at Dumbledore. Then he looked at Harry. Then he raised his eyebrow.

Ten years had passed since that night, something that McGonagall was painfully aware of. Meeting with _that man _had left quite an impression on her. During those ten long years, all she could do was wonder what Harry would become like when raised by such an eccentric person. But there was no reason to wonder anymore. All she had to do was wait a few seconds.

At that very moment, she was calling out names from a long list of young boys and girls who had enrolled in the Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As she neared Harry's name, her heart beat faster. Had that man treated him too badly? Had he become a shy, sensitive person, unlike his father due to the abuse?

"Potter, Harry!" she called out, immediately prompting multiple whispers from the crowd of students.

It was as if the school's orchestra was posssed by demons, making godless love to the personification of magnificence. McGonagall didn't know who had authorized this song change and she was too shocked to ask. The entire school watched as young Harry walked towards the stool containing the sorting hat, the glorious music still soaring through the castle as if it were an eagle. It was then that the unexpected happen.

Harry rudely knocked the Sorting Hat to the ground. Then, before anyone knew it, he was standing on top of the stool. Then he fiercely raised his fist high up in the air, as if punching an invisible enemy. This caused the crowd to erupt into cheers, though the Slytherin table was suspiciously quiet during the entire event.

"Harry Potter! Harry Potter!" the crowd of students cried out.

And during all of this, Harry Potter did not move an inch, nor did he show any emotion at all on his face. Eventually, the crowd started to quiet out. It was then that he acted. He drew out his wand from his pocket, quickly summoning a spell.

"_Sonorus,"_ he said.

McGonagall wondered how he knew a spell before even coming to Hogwarts, but that would soon become the last thing to think about. There would soon be more pressing questions.

"Finally..."said Harry, his voice magically amplified. "Finally...finallly...after ten long years...The Harry, has come back, to the wizarding world!"

The crowd erupted into cheers once more. Even some of the Slytherins were chanting his name now, much to the displeasure of the ones who weren't.

"Ten years ago, there lived a dark wizard who nobody could defeat." The whole school fell silent at once. "Ten years ago, there lived a dark wizard who killed countless people. Who committed atrocious crimes. Who made many people suffer. But you see, that wizard made one fatal mistake." Both the faculty and the students were now hanging on to every word Harry said. "He thought that because The Harry was barely a year old, The Harry could be defeated without a problem. He thought that because The Harry still liked stuffed toys and wanted to be with his mommy he could come kill him. He thought that just because The Harry didn't even know how to talk yet, he couldn't be too much of a problem. He dared to go _one on one with the great one. _And what happened? Let me tell you what happened. The Harry, one year old, took a moment off his busy schedule of pooping, looked Voldemort straight in the eye, and said he would beat him all the way to Mars, all the way to Jupiter, all the way to Uranus! Then, true to his word, The Harry, one year old, took Voldemort's wand, flipped it sideways, and shoved it right up his candy ass!"

Fred and George Weasley were the first ones to scream, but by no means the only ones. The sheer amount of respect every person in the room felt for Harry at that moment. Their voices echoed through the castle so loudly, McGonagall thought that they would maybe be heard by those in Hogsmeade. Every person, male, female, Muggle-Born or pureblood, was chanting Harry's name at that moment, except by a select few who Harry's glare said he took note of.

"Mr. Potter," said McGonagall, also magically enhancing her voice, "that language is not appropriate for an eleven year old!"

"That language is not appropriate for an eleven year old," Harry repeated, mockingly. "Know your damn role, and shut your damn mouth! The Harry says what The Harry damn well pleases!"

The students cheered even louder, prompting McGonagall to step back and sit down. Her chest hurt. The sheet amount of disrespect Harry was displaying made her feel as though she was going to have a heart attack. Perhaps she was.

Harry grabbed the Sorting Hat from the ground, put it on top of his head, then, with his wand pointed to his mouth, asked the hat loudly enough so that the entire school could hear it.

"What house do you think The Harry belongs to?"

"Slyth—"began the Sorting Hat, but then Harry grabbed it, tossed it on the ground and stepped on it.

"IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOU THINK!" Harry cried out. It seemed, at that moment, as if there was absolutely nothing in the world the students would rather do than to watch Harry.

Harry glanced at the crowd. Then, he turned around to look over at the faculty. He looked at Snape, who had turned his head sideways as if hoping that maybe looking at Harry from a different angle would let him understand the situation better. Then he glared at Quirrel, who seemed absolutely terrified. Then he glared at Dumbledore, who seemed positively delighted with the situation.

Suddenly, Harry turned back to the crowd.

"IF YOU SMELL..."he cried out. "WHAT THE HARRY. IS. COOKING."

The orchestra started to play that strange, yet magnificent song once more as Harry walked towards the Gryffindor table despite never having been actually sorted.


	2. The Wizard's Champion

_**Author's Note: I'm still so very, very sorry.**_

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><p>There were no whispers about Harry Potter's return to Hogwarts, only screams of glory so loud, so electrifying that reality wasn't capable of putting it into sounds. But Harry could see it. In the eye of every boy he met, in the heart of every girl he passed by, they all said the same thing. They all chanted the name of their champion, <em>the wizard people's champion, <em>The Harry.

No man, dead or alive, dared to stand in his way. If a ghost didn't move out to let him talk, he just walked right through them without warning. Even the mighty janitor Filch seemed reluctant to oppose him. He never explained why, but Harry suspected it was his eyes. Hagrid had said he inherited them from his mother, but that wasn't why people backed down when he stared them. No, they backed down because of his adoptive father, they backed down not because his eyes were green, but because they were electrifying.

Harry had become friends with a boy named Ron Weasley, who was in awe of his magnificent presence. Either that or he was in awe of him having defeated a dark overlord. But Harry preferred to think it was the first alternative.

Teachers hadn't taken kindly to Harry's attitude, but they hardly fought. McGonagall chose to simply ignore Harry during her classes, perhaps as a form of punishment, perhaps just buying time until she figured out how to handle him. The first confrontation came during his Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

"CAN YOU SMELL...WHAT THE HARRY...IS...COOKING?" asked Harry to the other Gryffindors, who were now his own particular cheerleading squad. "The Harry can certainly smell what Quirrel is cooking." Harry sniffed out the air loudly. "Garlic. The Harry hates garlic. Are you really that afraid of vampires Quirrel?"

"Mr. P-p-p-p-p-p-otter," he stuttered. "I would appreciate if you didn't refer to m-m-m-m-m-me this way. I'm _Professor_ Q-q-q-q-q-q—"

"I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-IT DOESN'T MATTER WHO YOU ARE!" screamed Harry, making all of the Gryffindors cheer. All of them but Hermione Granger, who sneered at him regarding his behavior as rude and unbecoming of the hero of the wizarding world.

Potions class went just as well, with Harry's verbal nuke finally finding a tongue capable of making nuclear deterrence a reality.

"You are just like your father," said Snape, walking toward him. "You are so full of yourself, you think you are better than you really are... ."

"You damn right I'm like my father!" said Harry, magically enhancing his voice despite the fact there was absolutely no need for that. "I am proud to be like him, just like I'm damn proud to—"

"I know you are proud, Potter. Your father was proud too." Snape spoke slowly, but viciously. "And that is why you should know that isn't a good thing."

"And you should know that The Harry is gonna lay the smackdown on your candy ass if you dare to insult The Harry's father! Either one of them!" Harry added, upon some thinking.

Harry earned himself quite a few detentions, but he didn't mind. His father had told him that authority figures tend to be terrible people. Power does that to people. And that is why the people need a champion. That is why they need someone who runs his mouth, shows off his power and stands tall drawing his strength from the people. And that was why he, the boy who lived, would never stop being who he needed to be. That was why he needed to become the most electrifying wizard in the history of mankind.

Weeks passed by swiftly. Harry dominated the flying lessons, knocking Malfoy off his broom. This was probably why Malfoy seemed to be particularly vengeful when he came to talk to Harry the next morning during breakfast.

"You think you are clever because you knocked me off my broom, don't you Potter?" asked Malfoy, throwing Harry's food on the ground. "You think you are better than me?"

But Harry wasn't listening. He was staring at his delicious pie which Malfoy had just wasted. Then, with an eyebrow raised, he took off his sunglasses, rose to his feet, and met Malfoy's hateful stare with a murderous stare of his own.

"You interrupted The Harry's breakfast," he said slowly.

"Then how about I interrupt your life as well? You and me, midnight. Duel of wizards."

"WOAH, WOAH, WOAH!" screamed Harry, calling attention of everyone around them. "You want us to fight where nobody will see us? I'm sorry, but The Harry doesn't roll that way. When The Harry fights, his strength comes from the people. He needs the people there to cheer for him. When The Harry vanquishes dark lords, it's not just him fighting, oh no. He is not alone. He is with the millions and millions... ."

"AND MILLIONS!" the crowd of students shouted in response.

"...of The Harry's fans, they give him power, they give him electricity, and they deserve to watch him go down Know Your Role Boulevard, hang that right at Jabroni Drive, and proceed to check your candy ass in at the Smackdown Hotel!"

The students cheered. Malfoy looked around nervously, afraid a teacher would come to see that commotion and punish him for challenging a student to a duel. Fortunately for him, it was Percy Weasley who showed up, not a teacher. Percy noticed that Harry had drawn his wand, and raised his hand to stop him.

"Lower your wand Harry! Magic is not allowed in the hallways!"

"Of course," said Harry innocently. "Of course. No magic."

Harry put his wand inside his pocket, started to walk away from Malfoy and raised his arms high up in the air, as if to show he wasn't carrying any weapons other than his arms. But of course, his arms were weapons themselves. Turning back to Malfoy, he put his hand on his chest, lift him high up in the air and pushed him against the ground with all his might.

"ROCK BOTTOM!" screamed Dean Thomas, who had been raised a Muggle.

"What's a rock bottom?" asked Ron, curiously.

"It's that," said Dean, in nothing short of wonder as Malfoy laid on the ground barely moving and Harry stepped on his face. Then, Harry punched the air once more, prompting the castle orchestra to start playing that same song they have grown familiar to, that sounded as if the sun were exploding itself in perfect harmony with Jupiter, which also exploded for the same reason as the sun: to show the magnificent of The Harry, the most electrifying boy who lived.


	3. The Authority Figure

_**Author's note: Thank you very much for the reviews. I'm still so very, very sorry for writing this. Also, question regarding the length of the chapters. This one is a bit longer than the previous ones because I'm having so much fun writing this it's like I'm Bruce Willis and MS Word is a building full of terrorists, mind if I start writing longer chapters(around 4000 words) or would that be too long?**_

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><p>A few minutes after Harry had laid the smackdown on Malfoy, the crowd was still celebrating, Harry's arm was still raised high up in the air to acknowledge his cheers, Ron Weasley still watched the entire scene with his mouth hanging open like Christmas had come early, and Malfoy was still on the ground, splashing his body around like a worm, trying to get up but utterly failing to do so.<p>

Then, the music everyone had come to associate with Harry abruptly stopped playing. Taking its place, the Hogwarts anthem started to play. Harry recognized that situation. It had happened many times with his father. An authority figure was coming. It was Dumbledore, who the crowd graciously opened up a path for, his wand raised and pointed towards his own mouth. The school anthem still played when he spoke, but his magically amplified voice drowned it out under its magnificent presence.

"Holla, holla, holla," he began, looking at the ground. Absolutely nobody in the hall knew what those words meant, and yet they carried so much more meaning than any class they had attended. Raising his head up high, right hand holding his wand close to his face, left hand extended towards Harry, opened as if he were holding an invisible book with it, "Harry, I appreciate your spirit to be a man of the people. It is a very honourable thing to do, you know. Not to fight in the darkness, but under the spotlight."

"But?" asked Harry, raising his eyebrow. "Save it, Santa Claus. The Harry has danced this dance in his head a thousand times, and The Harry's dad taught him that when the funky man with the theme song comes out, you need to be ready for whatever crap he's gonna make you do. So what? Do I have to fight werewolves or something?"

"Now, relax Harry," said Dumbledore, using his free hand to do a stopping motion. "I'm not here to punish you. While it is normally against the rules to, as you said it, lay the smackdown on students, I believe this is a special occasion. You are the one who brought peace to the wizarding world, and I think that means you are also the one who should be able to bring **it."**

"It being the electrifying action only The Harry can bring," smirked Harry.

"Correct. Needless to say, you and Mr. Malfoy don't seem like you are going to get along. But I can't tolerate unauthorized violence in the school. Therefore, I have officially sanctioned a duel between you and Mr. Malfoy to take place on Halloween Night!" The students erupted into cheers. Dumbledore had never authorized a duel between students before. "But there is more, wizards! It's going to be a tag team duel!"

If the crowd of students had gone crazy before, then this time they had completely given up any chance of ever becoming fully functional human beings again. They screamed, they cheered, they chanted, and Dumbledore's name echoed throughout the school. The teachers stood and watched speechless, feeling like they had forgotten to attend a very important meeting that would have made the scene before them make complete sense.

"You are a good man," said Harry, surprised. "I couldn't see your face under that beard, so I assumed you were wearing those fancy women's shoes under those robes. I see it isn't like that."

"No offense taken,"said Dumbledore, accepting the unspoken and nonexistent apology. "Now, who will your partner be?"

"I'll do it!" said Ron Weasley, pushing his way through the crowd and stumbling towards Harry. "Let me be your tag partner!"

Harry regarded Ron with a careful expression, trying to make sure he possessed all the qualities one needed to be his tag partner in a duel of wizards. Then, realizing he had absolutely no idea what qualities one needed to be his tag partner in a duel of wizards, he nodded.

"The Harry says yes."

"Did you hear that? He's my brother! The Harry's tag duel partner is my little brother!" screamed Percy, to a bunch of Gryffindor girls who jumped up and down in response to the announcement.

"Wonderful," said Dumbledore, now turning to Malfoy, whose sidekicks had now helped him to his feet. "Mr. Malfoy?"

"Crabbe," he responded, nodding towards one of the boys helping him to his feet. "I won't forget this, Potter. I'll humiliate you. My family has the purest blood in this entire school. Our blood is purer than—"

"You don't need to tell us what your blood is like, Malfoy. I'll make sure that the entire school can see it dripping out of your skull after I'm done with you!" screamed Harry, gesturing furiously at Malfoy. "Let me tell you how our fight is gonna go. If The Harry hits you, he'll kill you. If he misses, the wind behind the punch will give you pneumonia and you'll die anyway, so the choice is yours jabroni. Both ways end with The Harry sticking your head so far up your ass you are gonna have to cut holes in your nipples to be able to see."

Malfoy wanted to say something in comeback, but perhaps because he couldn't think of anything even remotely as cool as what Harry had just said, perhaps because the cheers were now so loud nobody would even let him talk, he did as he was told and took his jabroni ass out of the way. They would settle this on Halloween.

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><p>"I'm not sure this is such a good idea Albus," said Professor McGonagall, biting her lips. She didn't look like she had gotten much sleep. "Harry is just a child. We can't erase the damages his adoptive father caused him, but we can work hard to make him into a better man."<p>

Dumbledore didn't reply immediately. He rose to his feet, hands behind his back, and paced toward the window. He calmly observed the rain crashing down from the sky, as if heaven itself were wetting itself in fear of what would soon follow. Then, with a kind smile, "My dear Professor McGonagall, I don't think Harry is truly that much worse than his father was at his age."

"I'm not sure comparing him to that brute will convince me, Albus," she snapped at him.

Dumbledore chuckled. "I was referring to James Potter, not his adoptive father."

"Oh." It was clear that McGonagall's mind couldn't be further from James Potter, because her face contorted in disgust as she realized how Harry's adoptive father was not so different from his biological one. "Even so, we have never endorsed violence in this school. James wasn't a violent person, if he was prone to, well, being as dramatic as Harry."

"He would have, had we given him the chance to do so," Dumbledore pointed out.

"That is the problem!" screamed McGonagall, loudly stomping her feet as she got to her feet. "We are supposed to educate young wizards into becoming respectable adults. Have you forgotten that? Why are we endorsing this...this..abominable violence?"

"You surely can't be implying that kids didn't have duels to settle their differences when you were at Hogwarts," he winked at her. "I have seen many of those during my time."

"Of course," she admitted, reluctantly. "But those duels happened _in spite_ of the school's efforts, not _because _of them!"

"Times change," said Dumbledore kindly. "Because Harry was raised by the most electrifying man, he has a power that we may need to use to stop Voldemort from stealing the Philosopher's Stone."

McGonagall trembled upon hearing that name. "Albus, you seriously think that he...isn't dead? That he is trying to steal the stone?"

"Yes," he nodded. "And that is where Harry comes in. He has inherited the most electrifying power of them all."

"Love?"

"That too," said Dumbledore. "But I was referring to the power to make the millions—"

"AND THE MILLIONS!"

"Where did that voice come from?" asked McGonagall, concerned, turning around to see if there was anybody else inside Dumbledore's office, but finding nothing but empty space.

"—of the Harry's fans hang to his every word, to chant his name, to respect him. You see, what Harry learned from his adoptive father is a more advanced form of love. He learned how to be The People's Champion. In order to become The People's Champion, one must understand love, one must love himself, and he must be able to make the millions love him. This love, added to the love of his mother that saved his life when he was little, will surely defeat Voldemort."

McGonagall wasn't convinced. "Albus, I still think—"

"IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOU THINK!" screamed Dumbledore, flipping his desk over, causing McGonagall to fall backwards in shock. Dumbledore then went back to his kind, almost paternal tone, "How was my imitation of Harry's father?"

"I—it was—I say," she began, gasping for air, still in shock at Dumbledore's uncharacteristic display of emotion, and even more so at his sudden change back to normal, "I think that—"

"IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOU THINK!" Dumbledore roared once more, causing McGonagall to faint. "Oh dear," he said, regretting his little joke.

Perhaps he shouldn't push McGonagall that far. After all, though Dumbledore understood the electrifying power Harry had received, McGonagall hadn't been there, with him, when he entered that Muggle stadium. She hadn't watched that man run his mouth like it was a track field and his tongue was the roadrunner. She hadn't watched that man's electrical display of charisma attract the love of millions—and millions—of fans in the entire arena, as they chanted his name, his words, and his ideals.

But Dumbledore had. He would never forget it, he had entered the Muggle arena in the search of a potential man to fight Voldemort, one Dumbledore had heard had never lost before. But this man was only at his most powerful during a very specific time of the year and in a very specific place. It would be difficult to make him fight Voldemort there. But then, he saw something else. It wasn't who Dumbledore had come into the building to look for. This man didn't have any supernatural powers. This man didn't draw powers from the unknown. He drew his power from the love his fans emanated to him. He was a true people's champion.

Once Harry defeated Voldemort, Dumbledore knew that Harry had to be raised by that man. Only he could teach Harry how to love and be loved on that level. Then, surprisingly, it turned out he was one of Lily Potter's relatives, which made everything just perfect. Dumbledore bought many DVDs, a Muggle invention, and watched Harry's father doing his magic over and over again. He studied them all in order to understand the wonders of his magic. His magic, the magic of a Muggle, was just as mysterious and powerful as Dumbledore's magic.

And it was believing in that magic that Dumbledore decided, "I'm going to leave it to Harry to lay the smackdown on Voldemort's candy ass." Watching the Muggle sport had certainly changed his vocabulary. And ability to think clearly.


	4. THIS, IS, YOUR

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. As always, I'm very, very sorry. If you can't tell what I'm sorry about after you read this, you have issues man._

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><p>No one in the castle talked about anything but the upcoming tag team duel between the team of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley and the team of Draco Malfoy and Crabbe. Nobody quite cared enough about Crabbe to find out his last name. Some even theorized Crabbe was actually his last name, but quite simply, people had more interesting things to worry about.<p>

Ron had a lot more things to worry about. Sure, he had been sorted into Gryffindor, but he hadn't done anything to be worth of being compared to his older brothers yet—but he had the chance to not only match their amazing talents, but outright surpass them. He had been given the golden chance of being Harry Potter's partner for his first duel since he had defeated Voldemort. Ron's mom had said that Harry Potter was probably a normal eleven year old boy who didn't remember how he had defeated the dark lord. But now, Ron wasn't so sure. He was so confident, so much larger than life itself that Ron thought anything was possible.

Ron wasn't even sure tag team duels were actually real. Part of him thought that Dumbledore had created the entire thing on the spot, but he was sure the headmaster wouldn't be as reckless—and certifiably insane—as to create a new form of duel between first-years without a good reason.

And then, it occurred to him. Like a fat man to a McDonalds, the idea went through Ron's head as though it were lightning. It was obvious. That way, he could not only thank Harry for the chance he had been given, but also to use that chance to make himself into a legend, to create a segment of time that would be talked about for years to come. Ron smiled. He knew what he had to do.

Four hours had passed since Ron's epiphany, and everyone, staff and students had gathered in the Great Hall to witness it. Though some staff members thought it was absurd to cancel classes in order for a first-year student to make an announcement they didn't know anything about, they didn't dare to say it to Dumbledore, who seemed absolutely delighted at the idea of Ron making himself stand out in the tag team duel.

"Whatever Dumbledore saw in the Muggle world," said McGonagall to herself, "must have completely made him forget what reality is like."

It was hard to talk about reality and normality when in the presence of a scene that was absurd even to the castle that housed more wonders than the entire world combined. The entire Great Hall was covered with students, balloons, colored flags, it was a party to outdo all parties. The entire place seemed filled with students, save for an empty squared circle, given its shape by four poles and a few intertwined ropes.

Only Ron Weasley occupied that area. It was the area where he would make his announcement. That area was blocked off with magic—cast personally by Dumbledore— so that only people involved in the tag team duel would be able to enter it.

"You might be wondering why I called you all here," said Ron in a magically amplified voice, having been taught the spell a few minutes earlier, clearly nervous to be talking in front of such a large crowd. "It's because I have a special gift for The Harry, and I want all of you to see it. I...I am honored beyond words to be the tag team partner of the one who saved our world, who made our dreams come true, who brought peace to us—"

_IF YOU SMELL_

_ WHAT THE HARRY_

_ IS COOKING_

The unholy song that symbolized the union of God and the devil started playing, it felt as though the music was made of fire and the air was made of explosives. The powerful explosion that followed could have been the result of the imaginary gunpowder, the crowd's screams of excitement, or the mere electrifying presence of the great one. The Harry walked through the crowd, sunglasses covering his eyes, and entered the area where Ron was, also holding his wand to his mouth to magically amplify his voice.

"This better be good," said Harry. "The Harry was about to eat some pie."

"Harry, this is—what? Actually, never mind, I don't want to know," said Ron quickly. "This is really good, believe me!"

Harry looked around at all the balloons and festive atmosphere Ron had set up. "What is this? Some sort of joke?"

"Not a joke, Harry! In fact," Ron further amplified his voice, "_THIS, IS, YOUR LIFE!"_

Harry didn't react at all, but the crowd cheered. Ron pointed toward the grand doors at the end of the hallway, his arms shaking with excitement and his voice equally as shaky. "Harry, do you remember this voice?"

"Where am I?" asked a familiar voice. "I'm going to sue you all! This is illegal! Your people can't get away with this!"

The door swung open, revealing a very fat man with a mustache. This man seemed torn between appearing disgusted and surprised as he walked up to Harry.

"That's right The Harry," said Ron. "It is your Uncle Vernon, who you haven't seen in years! He came all the way here to congratulate you!"

Harry kept his wand pointed towards his mouth, but used his free hand to gesture toward Uncle Vernon as the latter spoke. His tone seemed legitimately puzzled, and yet extremely intimidating.

"Who in the _blue_ hell are _you_?"

"I'm your Uncle," he grunted. "Where am I? Is this the place your type—"

"Where you are doesn't matter," said Harry in a low voice. "What matters is where you are going to be in a second if you don't shut your mouth and answer my questions."

Uncle Vernon might have had a reply ready, but if he did, it remained stuck in his throat. Even if his anger was strong enough not to be suppressed by the overwhelming atmosphere, the cheers were loud enough to suppress anything that came out of his lips. He stared at Harry angrily.

"Let me see if you remember, when The Harry's father brought The Harry to visit his biological relatives, what did you do?"

"I—"

"WHAT DID YOU DO?" cried Harry ferociously.

"I said I wasn't sure who was worse, your biological parents or your adoptive father," Uncle Vernon cried back, with as much ferociousness as Harry.

Harry didn't respond immediately. Instead, he looked at Ron, snapped his fingers and pointed to the empty space between him and Vernon. Ron immediately understood what Harry was suggesting(or perhaps ordering) and got down on all fours in that empty space. Harry used Ron's body as a ladder, stepped up to look his disgusting relative in the eye, took off his sunglasses, then said, "Now that I can look you in the eye, let me tell you this. The Harry doesn't hold grudges, oh no. The Harry is a nice guy, you see. So nice in fact that The Harry is going to give you a free stay at the SMACKDOWN HOTEL!"

Harry jumped off Ron's back, right hand on Vernon's face, and pushed him against the ground. It could have been because his knees were weak from being possibly kidnapped, it could have been the extra height Ron's back gave Harry, but the truth is, it didn't matter why it had happened. The fact was that despite their weight differences, Harry had just given Vernon a Rock Bottom.

The crowd cheered, and Ron egged them on, clapping happily to psych them up, "Very good, Harry! I have a few other guests that—"

Harry held out his hand in front of Ron's face.

"The Harry has better things to do than to listen to all your guests. I know how this is gonna go. It happened to my father before. So I'm gonna leave now before the sledgehammer guy comes."

* * *

><p>On Halloween, Harry was ready, the crowd was roaring and soon the Slytherins would be raging.<p>

"Listen," said Snape, the referee, "I want a fair duel from both parties. Only the legal member of each tag team may partake in the duel. A tag needs to be made to switch legal members. This duel ends once somebody surrenders or is unable to compete. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," said Malfoy slyly.

"As crystal and shiny as the—"

"Perfect," said Snape, not letting Harry finish.

The arena was like a boxing ring, four poles connected by ropes. Only the legal members of each duel were allowed inside the ring. Their partners remained just outside the ropes, waiting to be tagged in. Not many understood the purpose of such elaborate and unusual arena for the duel, but Dumbledore insisted his preparations were important for Harry's growth.

"Trust me," he said, winking at McGonagall. "This will be of great help once Harry faces Voldemort, which will inevitably happen in the future."

"Even so," said McGonagall, clearly struggling with the situation, "I doubt that Severus was the best choice for a referee. I'm afraid impartiality was never among his qualities."

"That is exactly why he is the perfect referee," said Dumbledore, smiling victoriously. "A hero must be able to overcome the odds."

McGonagall shook her head, unable and perhaps unwilling to understand Dumbledore's train of thought, and walked up to the commentary booth, where she and Lee Jordan would call the match.

"It looks like Ron and Malfoy are going to be the starting legal members," announced Jordan excitedly.

All eyes were on Dumbledore as he walked up toward a golden bell. With a twinkle in his eyes, and an air of wisdom that frankly did not belong in the situation, he nodded and gently tapped the bell, sounding the beginning of the match.

_"AND RON WEASLEY IS UP FIRST! HE IS HOLDING HIS WAND WITH HIS LEFT HAND, DESPITE BEING RIGHT HANDED. COULD IT BE—OH YES! LOOK AT HOW HE IS CLENCHING HIS FIST! HE PLANS ON USING OLD FASHIONED PUNCHES BECAUSE HE ISN'T GOOD WITH MAGIC! MALFOY LOOKS DISPLEASED!"_

Without giving Malfoy further time to react, Ron waved his wand, producing a small number of bright blue sparks that seemed to cause no damage. Malfoy pointed his wand at Ron, probably preparing to cast an actually functional spell, but Ron gave him no time to do so. He lunged at him, fist outstretched, and wrestled his wand off Malfoy, throwing it outside the ring and making the crowd roar in excitement.

Malfoy didn't seem to be used to fist fights, because instead of fighting back or attempting to get up on his feet again, all he did was try to protect himself from Ron's barrage of punches with his hands. The crowd was just beginning to get excited when Snape threw Ron off Malfoy.

"YOU KNOW THE RULES WEASLEY!" Snape thundered, furiously gesticulating as he spoke.

"NO I DON'T! I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THERE WERE RULES TO THIS! NOBODY TOLD ME—" Ron's complaining was cut short when Malfoy took advantage of that moment of distraction to grab Ron's head from behind and roam it against one of the ring's corners, the cold metal crashing against his forehead and causing an ever so slight fillet of blood to stream through his face.

The crowd booed as Snape lifted his arms high up in the air as if to say he hadn't seen anything illegal. McGonagall bit her lip. This was all going as she had feared. There was barely any magic involved in that duel; it all seemed like senseless violence. Worst of all, Snape didn't seem to notice how ridiculous the situation was. Then again, it was a very strong possibility that he indeed knew how terrifying the situation was and didn't care so long as he got the chance to cause Harry pain.

_"AND MALFOY HAS TAGGED CRABBE IN! CRABBE IS NOW TAKING OVER FOR DRACO! OUCH! WICKED PUNCH! I DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH LONGER RON WEASLEY CAN STAY CONSCIOUS LIKE THIS...OH AND MALFOY IS TAGGED BACK IN!"_

For what seemed like an eternity, Malfoy and Crabbe took turns to beat up Ron, who was by now so hurt he could barely stand, much less run. Harry stood on the opposite corner to the one were Ron was cornered. A tag couldn't be made so easily. When Malfoy held Ron up by his hair, the crowd booed, and it seemed as though it was all over.

Then, a single voice shattered that depressing atmosphere.

"LET'S GO WEASLEY!" screamed Oliver Wood, clapping his hands together. "LET'S GO WEASLEY!"

The effect was immediate. The crowd erupted into a "LET'S GO WEASLEY" chant, and this seemed to give Ron the force he needed. He just barely dodged one of Malfoy's fierce punches, then leaped toward his team's corner. The chants got louder as he kept crawling toward it. Harry took off his sunglasses and tossed them aside. He stretched out his hand and started to jump excidedly, trying to touch Ron's hand.

The distance between their hands decreased ever so slightly. Five centimeters. Four centimeters—

"_THE HARRY HAS BEEN TAGGED IN! WITH GOD AS MY WITNESS I SAY, THE HARRY HAS BEEN TAGGED IN! MY GOD!"_

The thundering of the crowd that followed Harry's entrance in the ring was of little concern for Malfoy; he had much more important matters to be concerned about, such as Harry's amazing punches. Looking at him dance through the air, one would think Harry, eleven years old, had been trained since birth to compete in fights such as these.

"Albus," began McGonagall, turning to Dumbledore with a stupefied expression, "what kind of man did you let raise Harry?"

"The most electrifying one," said Dumbledore mysteriously.

_"ROCK BOTTOM! ROCK BOTTOM! HARRY HAS JUST GIVEN MALFOY THE ROCK BOTTOM—NO, THE HARRY BOTTOM! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN LET ME ASSURE YOU NOBODY LIKES TO BE GIVEN A HARRY BOTTOM—"_

_ "JORDAN, THERE ARE KIDS LISTENING TO YOUR COMMENTARY!"_

_ "SORRY PROFESSOR—IN ANY CASE, SNAPE IS APPROACHING MALFOY TO CHECK IF HE'S STILL ABLE TO COMPETE—"_

But Snape never got to check on Malfoy, for at that moment, the cheers turned into desperate screams as an adult troll stepped into the ring, slapping Harry off Malfoy.

The chaos that followed the incident seemed as though it could not be calmed, but Dumbledore's actions soon reminded McGonagall why he was the headmaster, even if he was a little odd at times. Rising to his feet, Dumbledore raised his right hand and shot a beam of scarlet light from his wand at the troll. A ghostly, yet distinctively physical magical folded steel chair hit the troll in the head, causing it to faint immediately.

Harry rose to his feet, stepping onto Malfoy's face for no reason at all, and stared at Dumbledore, his eyes carrying the message his lips didn't feel the need to convey—_You stole The Harry's thunder, funky man with the robes. The Harry is gonna lay the Smackdown on your candy ass._

Feeling the electricity in Harry's eyes, Dumbledore acted quickly. First, he magically amplified his voice. Then, he addressed both Harry and the crowd of confused, scared students who had been watching the duel.

"First of all," said Dumbledore, glancing at the troll, "I must announce that THE WINNER, AS A RESULT OF DISQUALIFICATION, THE TEAM OF THE HARRY AND RON WEASLEY! But that's not enough. I understand our victorious team would have preferred a clean victory. Rest assured, I will make sure the people responsible for this interference will be punished. I give you my word as Hogwarts general manager—headmaster."

Dumbledore glanced at a nearly unconscious Professor Quirrel, and it dawned on everyone that he must have been there for some time now. Maybe he even screamed something when the troll went in, but the cheers suffocated his words. Dumbledore's glance then turned into what Harry thought was a maniacal stare.

"Professor Quirrel, it is your duty to defend our school against the dark arts," said Dumbledore coldly.

"No—no, sir, it—it i-isn't," stuttered Quirrel in response, but Dumbledore wasn't listening.

"As such, there is only one way I can deal with this." Dumbledore walked up to Quirrel so that they were within touching distance. Then, pointing his wand at his own throat to further amplify his voice, Dumbledore's face contorted andthen, stretching out each syllable as much as possible, _"YOU'RE FIRED!"_


	5. The Most Electrifying Move!

**Now and forever- I will always be sorry. ****_But I would still write all of this all over again. _**

* * *

><p>It happened that, on the morning of that significant November the fourteenth when Professor Snape's discovery of Professor's Dumbledore insanity created a sensation which, to this day, has not entirely been proven as anything other than a massive accidental ingestion of magical potions, McGonagall had come to his office. It was not a habit of hers to see Snape any more than she had to, but she felt it was her obligated to deliver certain documents to him, the importance of which amounts to nothing in the great scheme of things.<p>

Nonetheless, the fact remains that McGonagall was present in the hallway and this allowed to hear the cry that bent the heavens.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

Nonplussed by the scream, McGonagall knocked on the door out of a courtesy that existed only due to its irony, and immediately opened the door without waiting for an answer, her head peeking out of the corner of the doorway. There was nothing unusual inside Snape's office, its atmosphere as grim as usual, and Snape's bad mood continuing its uninterrupted streak(the streak was said to be the second longest streak in history, only after some strange man who worked in a graveyard).

"Minerva," said Snape, nodding curtly but using a tone that implied no such politeness. "What brings you here?"

"I have come to deliver a few documents," she responded, holding up a thick stack of papers. "What were you doing?"

"Though I don't think you are used to such techniques, the principle is quite simple," said Snape, charismatically pulling his hair backwards with his hands as he spoke exactly the way somebody with his ugliness should be dragged to the streets and shot for even attempting. "I was staring at some old manuscripts and attempting to translate them, so I could cure Professor Dumbledore of his…condition."

"Condition?" exclaimed McGonagall. "You mean it's treatable?"

"Possibly," said Snape. "From what I've gathered from my talks with him, he was apparently infected with some sort of electricity when he went into a Muggle sporting event ten years ago. Some sort of…wrestling event."

Snape contorted his face with disdain into an expression of pure, ugly hatred. Naturally, such was his natural ugliness that his negative emotions went by unnoticed—the perfect disguise.

"Is that why Albus fired Quirrel before for such a trivial matter?"

"Perhaps," answered Snape, putting his fingertips together much like a person with two hands would. "I have my doubts however—there is still a chance that the Headmaster is only pretending to be mad in order to throw off the Dark Lord, to make him think that he isn't a threat anymore."

"Dark Lord? You mean—"

"Yes, he's likely alive and I suspect that Quirrel was his servant, which makes Dumbledore's move perfectly logical. However…" Snape shook his head and trembled like a man who's asked if he wants to go shoe shopping. "There's no use wasting our time here, I'll ask the Headmaster myself, I'm sure he trusts me enough to reveal his plan."

"It's no use, Severus. I've tried to do so, multiple times. But Albus—"

"Perhaps _you _weren't able to do it, but do remember who you are talking to, Minerva," said Snape slyly, enunciating each word so rhythmically that it looked like he was one strangely placed transition away from breaking into a song.

Snape came out of Dumbledore's office with his head low and his eyes more unbelieving than they had ever been before. McGonagall was waiting for him, beside the door and would very likely have had her arms crossed and back leaning against the wall if her age permitted her to do so. Since that wasn't the case, she had to satisfy herself with a well-placed raise of her eyebrow(regretting this motion a moment later as she became aware of her influence).

"How did your attempt to find out more about Professor Dumbledore's thoughts go, Severus?"

"He may have put me in a match against Flitwick."

"That sounds rather serious, don't you think?"

"Not at all—he is a midget with no serious arm strength, I'm fairly sure I can overpower him with no major difficulties."

"In regards to Professor Dumbledore's sanity."

"Oh," Snape would have scratched the back of his head at this point, but doing so would have unleashed a terrible flea plague upon humanity. "Yes that's long gone."

McGonagall raised her hands up to her forehead and began walking in a circular motion, which struck Snape as very pointless, though slightly funny due to her speed.

"We need to do something! We can't have Professor Dumbledore losing his mind when You-Know-Who is apparently still alive and with the Philosopher's Stone…Severus?"

Snape bit his lips, closed his eyes and shook his head, like a man who was trying to soften a blow—only he was far too selfish to do so, in reality he was just unable to properly control his facial muscles due to a surprisingly submission move Dumbledore had put him under in order to force to accept his sanity moments earlier.

"About the Philosopher's Stone—Dumbledore may have mentioned that he sent a letter to Quirrel, saying that Harry Potter was going to be face him in a one on one match for the Philosopher's Stone."

"What?" It was all McGonagall could say in response to that.

"Not you too!" exclaimed Snape furiously. "In any case, it's going to be a "Philosopher's Stone on a pole" match. I frankly have no idea what that even means. Do you hazard any guesses, Minerva?"

"Not particularly, no—why on earth is Dumbledore even making that challenge if he knows that Quirrel is a dark wizard? Wouldn't calling the Ministry be more efficient?"

"Do you think so?" asked Snape, as if he had some reserves about the idea.

"Yes, I think that—"

"IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOU THINK!"

Snape screamed at McGonagall's face, prompting her to fall backwards and be forced to turn into her cat form to survive. Even in her animal body, her expression of sheer disbelief and confusion explained exactly what the numerous and complex thoughts that went through her highly sensible mind at the moment. _SEVERUS WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?_

In response, Snape smirked and ripped up his robes—which caused a few first year girls to run away, shrieking in panic. Underneath it was a shirt that said "Corporate Hogwarts."

"Professor Dumbledore was kind enough to show me his memories of this electrifying wrestling event he went to, and this caused me to accept his viewpoint. I then turned my face to true goodness and joined the good side."

McGonagall had slightly over forty seven and a half issues with what Professor Snape had just stated, though curiously none of which were related to the fact his alignment change did not at all match the corporation.

"Severus, if you—if you truly went to his side, then why did you act like a normal human being when you came out of his office?"

"That, McGonagall," said Snape, lifting his finger higher than his nose and wagging it from side to side, "is what we call a swerve."

Professor Dumbledore burst out of his office—quite literally. He blew up a hole on the wall instead of using the door. He offered no explanation for this behavior, and instead locked eyes with Snape. Both men understood each other immediately, and strutted out of the room together their heads so high up they were actually nearly looking backwards as they marched away from McGonagall.

McGonagall only one thing to say about the incident.

"What?"

"WHAT?" cried back the crowd of students that had inexplicably formed behind her.

* * *

><p>It was not unusual for Harry Potter to have breakfast, but it was fairly unusual for him to do so without being introduced by Hogwarts' orchestra.<p>

"I'm having them rest for tonight," said Harry, smirking and nodding to some girls he quite clearly wouldn't remember four phrases later. "I need them ready for when I kick that Voldemort jabroni's ass."

"But Harry," said Ron, who was sitting beside Harry and the girls and was now wearing a strange mask for reasons unknown to him, "why am I wearing this mask?"

"Yeah Harry why" said a girl.

"Because—" Harry stopped his sentence to turn to the girl, and then lowered his sunglasses"—who in the blue hell are you again?"

The girl was obviously embarrassed. "I—"

"And would you like to taste some of The Wizard's strudel?"

"I—of course The Harry!"

"What the hell is the matter with you?" exclaimed Harry, flipping over the breakfast table. "You are eleven you shouldn't be thinking like that!"

"But Harry, you are elev—" began Ron, before being thrown against the breakfast table so hard the wood exploded in a thousand pieces.

"IT DOESN'T MATTER IF THE HARRY IS ELEVEN!" shouted Harry, Harry Bottoming' Ron through the table.

Neville knelt down beside the destroyed table to pick up some of the food he missed. He picked up some tacos, and a lightbulb went up in his head.

"Spanish. Of course."

"I'm not much of a fan of Spanish food fella," said Seamus. "I prefer lobster heads," he added as he bit off a lobster's head.

* * *

><p>The reason for this fateful meeting was a matter of business—or, rather, of aesthetics. If Dumbledore didn't issue the challenge to Voldemort, there existed a distinct possibility that Voldemort and Harry would have to face each other without a crowd of screaming fans, and he simply could not let that happen.<p>

A word concerning Snape's dislike for Harry's father is necessary. Though this dislike came from matters of what was hidden underneath their pants and their contact with a certain girl, their rivalry did not start there. Snape's hatred for James began when he saw the boy playing around with Hagrid, the giant, and managed to lift him over his head and slam him against the floor, immediately turning him into the most popular boy in Hogwarts.

This was not, in fact, necessary to establish, but what is necessary to mention is that this memory may or may not have been implanted by Dumbledore later in order to further convince Snape of his electrifying viewpoint. Potato, potato, not a man in the world cared.

The only thing they cared about was—

_IF YOU SMELL_

_WHAT THE HARRY_

_IS COOKING_

The Harry came out from the middle of a gigantic crowd that far surpassed Hogwarts' logical capacity. Magic and electricity fused to create an atmosphere that not a thing in the world was capable of matching, the sky itself seemed one musical note away from exploding. Hogwarts' orchestra, joined by three other orchestras, played The Harry's musical theme perfectly. He then raised his arm high up in the air, and looked at Voldemort, who was both using Quirrel's body and quite confused about the situation.

The Harry then picked up his wand and pointed towards his own throat. _"Sonorus."_

With a dramatic clearing of his throat, he went on.

"Finally," he said, "finally, VOLDEMORT, HAS COME BACK, TO HAVE HIS JABRONI ASS KICKED!'

The crowd exploded—there was no longer any trace of fear in their cheers. They weren't afraid of Voldemort, not while The Harry was there. McGonagall considered this to be what Dumbledore planned for a moment, but quickly dismissed it as it would require a lodicule of sense which the situation did not have.

"I've waited ten long years to see the jabroni who gave me this scar," said The Harry, somehow lifting his hair simply by frowning really hard. "And then _you _turn out to be what I've been waiting for all along? _You?"_

"Potter," said Voldemort, "I've been waiting—I've been dreaming—I will kill you, I'll reclaim the darkness inside of my—"

"Know your role and shut your damn mouth!" exclaimed Harry. "You don't get to interrupt The Harry! Especially not you! Not when you look like a snake high on fruity pebbles!

"Not when come out here dressed in those purple robes and scarves, like you are Barney the Dinosaur's Muslim Cousin!"

The crowd cheered, but all McGonagall could do was rub her temples, somewhat hopeful that this was not actually happening and that it was just her dying dream. This was not the case.

"That is not very PG…Harry…Potter…"

"Know what else isn't PG? Your damn obsession with snakes. Listen up you homeless Darth Vader, it doesn't matter how many snakes you collect, it's never going to be enough to compensate for the fact you never got pie!"

Voldemort couldn't take the insult—he threw a powerful spell at Harry, and the match had begun. Had the spell hit him, he would surely have died, but Voldemort missed due to not accounting for the fact that Harry planned on running from one side of the squared ring to another in order to "pump up the crowd" as he put it.

Voldemort then followed up that attack with numerous other smaller attacks that, though not lethal, knocked Harry down multiple times. Then, once Harry was down for a substancial amount of time, Voldemort pointed upwards—toward the Philosopher's Stone hanging from the pole.

"I do not understand why he felt the need to point," said McGonagall, baffled. "Couldn't he just accio the stone to—"

"IT DOESN'T MATTER IF THE STONE CAN BE ACCIO'D!" exclaimed Snape, causing McGonagall to pass out once more.

Voldemort had nearly climbed the entire pole when a change in atmosphere happened. Electricity charged up, the temperature became hotter, and an eclipse happened as though the sun itself as trying to hide from the presence of this man. It is possible that some of those traits were coincidental, but there was little denying that the man had a certain affinity with the miraculous.

He did nothing but look at Harry—he didn't need to say anything. Harry understood. Harry felt the electricity, the cheers of the millions—

"AND MILLIONS!" screamed back the crowd.

—of The Harry's fans hoping for a comeback. So he jumped back to his feet and ran toward the ringposts, using them to jump toward Voldemort. The evil wizard, who was nearly done climbing the pole at that point, turned back and looked at Harry, horror splattered across his particularly ugly face. He felt Harry's palm be placed against his chest, but he couldn't do anything due to the incredible pain he felt. All he knew was that he was now being thrown against the ground by Harry.

_"ROCK BOTTOM! HARRY BOTTOM! IT'S THE BOTTOM LINE—WAIT NO, WRONG LINE," said the commentary. "BUT THAT'S NOT ENOUGH! HE-WHO-MUST-HAVE-HIS-ASS-KICKED IS STILL ALIVE! HOW CAN THE HARRY PUT HIM DOWN?"_

Harry looked at Voldemort, who was still on the ground but trying to get up, and then back at the crowd. Then back to Voldemort. Then back to the crowd. And then it happened.

_"OH MY GOD!" exclaimed Jordan on commentary. "CAN IT BE—?"_

Harry punched the air in front of him. He fixated his feet on the floor with such intensity that the Earth itself stopped spinning for a moment. Harry began to roll up his sleeves and tossed his completely non-functional watch toward the crowd, perhaps injurying somebody but not caring, and then he flopped his arms around.

And by God did he flop his arms around. It was almost like he was gonna take flight, but toward the opposite direction then turned 90 degrees to the side. He ran toward the ring ropes, jumped over Voldemort, and repeated the process. Then, as he approached Voldemort's fallen body, he stopped running and began slide.

_"THE MOST ELECTRIFYING MOVE IN HISTORY OF EVERYTHING! THE PEOPLE'S—NO THE WIZARD'S ELBOOOOOW!" _

It was the apocalypse, the big bang, and an office bathroom after a taco party all rolled into one—pure, Bayian explosions. The moment Harry's elbow fell and made contact with Voldemort's heart, the evil wizard's body was disintegrated. He could not come in contact with the electricity contained in Harry's elbow.

"Do you see now, Professor McGonagall?" asked Professor Dumbledore kindly. "This is why Harry needed to be raised by that man. His electricity allowed him to destroy Voldemort."

"In fact, I do not see that Albus. In fact, I think that Voldemort was killed by love rather than—"

"IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOU THINK!"

Dumbledore threw McGonagall through a table. Nobody paid any attention to it, as they were too busy celebrating Voldemort getting his ass jabroni ass sent all the way to the Smackdown hotel.

All was well.


End file.
